Nightmares of Regret
by ProdigiousGirl
Summary: After a failed G20 meeting the G8 with Spain, China and Romano take a few days to relax in the English countryside. When half the group goes missing, members of the other half search for them. Collapsing into sleep they must battle their greatest fears.
1. Into the Fog

Chapter One – Into the Fog

A/N: OH HAI! Another Hetalia fic? From me? Why yes! This one will likely be a 7 or 8 part piece. I think it's the longest one I'll have ever done (so far). Hope you like it! If you did, spare a second or two to write a review please.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia…if I did Canada's character would be different – he'd be a funny hockey player who lives in an igloo. Oh, and he'd wear a toque…cause it's cute. Don't know what that is? Look it up.

NO PAIRINGS!

NOTE: I'm so disappointed. I wanted this story to be the 50,000 Hetalia story up - and I was close too! Last night there were 49,990. I was going to post then but I really wanted to wait.

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><p>"Settle down, settle down." Germany grumbled as the collection of nations before him bickered restlessly about world matters.<p>

The countries who made up the world's twenty greatest economies continued on ignoring, or perhaps having not heard the German speak. They were only silenced after Switzerland took out his pistol and shot a lamp insisting the next bullet would go through the head of any nation arrogant enough to speak out of turn.

France raised his hand signalling he had something to say. Germany hated his neighbour's voice but since he was the only one who wanted the floor – America was too busy stuffing his face with hamburgers – he nodded to the Frenchman.

"I think we should take the rest of the day off. Too many things are being shouted out and it's causing us to become even more disorganized." He paused for a moment before combing his fingers through his golden hair, "Besides, it's getting too hot in here with all the people and it's making my hair all frizzy."

Germany rolled his eyes. The comment was typical of the Parisian; caring more about his appearance than global crises. "Well, I'm afraid that's not my decision to make. England is the hosting nation for the G-20 Summit and that makes him the chairman. Only the chairman can open and close the meetings."

Everyone turned their attention to the Englishman with scruffy, blond hair and sharp emerald eyes. "Well," he sighed, "we have been hammering on for nearly six hours now. I suppose a break would do us all some good."

A variety of nations began to cheer as they rose out of their seats and headed for the door. The Brit called out to them that the meeting would commence at 9 am sharp the next morning, "…So have a list of priorities to discuss!"

Swallowing the last of his hamburger America looked to his brother, Canada, who was neatly, but slowly, packing away his things.

"Hey Canada! Wanna go souvenir shopping?"

The North American nation looked up surprised someone had noticed his presence. He game his brother a kind smile, "Sure."

"Well actually," England cut in, having eavesdropped on their conversation, "I was hoping you'd both join me for an exclusive G8 getaway in the countryside."

Canada raised an eyebrow, "G8? You mean France, Germany, Italy, Japan and Russia will be joining us?"

"That was the idea." England responded.

"As long as we get to go riding!" America grinned. Both he and Canada had inherited a love of horses from England. Of course, the North Americans were wilder in their habits, they both enjoyed cowboys and rodeos as opposed to the English gentry and their equestrian competitions and polo.

"My estate in the country has a stable. You're welcome to go riding if time permits."

America frowned. Knowing England time _would not_ permit.

Before they could leave England gathered the rest of the G8 nations and relay the retreat plans.

"What! Veneziano gets to go to a country retreat and I don't!"

The G8 nations turned to see Romano awestruck and annoyed. Beside him were Spain and China.

"If Feliciano gets to go then I do too!"

"But Romano," Italy pouted, "It's special…for G8 members. But don't worry I'll be back soon, and I'll be with Germany and Japan so you don't have to worry about me!"

"Chigi!" Lovino threw his hands in the air, "I'm Italy too, ya know! Why do you always get to go! Why can't I go for once!"

Italy thought to himself for a second before cheerfully blurting out, "OK! Why don't you come with us!"

England gawked, "Who gave you permission to invite whoever _you_ want to _my_ estate!"

France chuckled at England's irritated look, "Oh _Rosbif_! It's not a big deal. The more the merrier. Spain should come too."

Spain's face lit up with delight, "Oh really? Thanks man!" The Spaniard had finally received the luxury of being a guest at a G8 meeting over the summer for the first time.

"Aiya! If Spain and Italy's brother get to go then China gets to go too!" the Asian screamed.

America grimaced when he saw the look on England's face. The British nation looked like he was going to pop a vein. The Yankee slung an arm around his old colonial overseer, "No worries, Iggy! It's really not a big deal."

The other nations nodded in agreement when America looked to them for support. The only one other than England who was less than enthusiastic was Germany. He hated the idea of more distractions.

"Well," Japan started in his less-than-perfect English, "I think we should be going now. It would not be good to show up late."

The team of eleven exited the Long Hall room, carried on down the corridor and travelled through the front lobby to the three black Mercedes Benz lined up outside.

* * *

><p>After an hour drive the nations finally arrived at England's estate. It was nearly 4 o'clock in the afternoon.<p>

The giant stone house sat neatly on a grassy hill. The cars passed a grand fountain that rested in the centre of the circular asphalt driveway. They stopped in front of a stone tablet staircase leading to two front double doors. Had it not been for a tall farm house and barn in the distance, one would have sworn the manor was in the middle of nowhere. To the right of the house stood a thick forest in close view.

Russia was the first nation out of the middle car. He had ridden up with China, Spain and Romano and had enjoyed watching China wiggle around uncomfortably while Spain and Romano pestered him about communism and his economy. Looking to his left he saw France exiting the first of the three black cars with England yelling at America who was already dragging Canada up the stairs to the house. Looking back to the last car he observed Veneziano grabbing Germany and Japan's arm while laughing cheerfully. The former Soviet nation joyfully drew in a breath of the crisp, fresh air and exhaled smoothly.

Climbing the stairs the majority of the visitors made their way inside the home where they found America admiring the taxidermy on the wall and Canada carrying on in a conversation with the butler.

"Ah Jeeves" England greeted the old man decked out in a posh black suite.

"Welcome back, Mr. Kirkland." The butler who looked to be in his late sixties responded. "Dinner will be ready at 5:30 sir."

America looked away from the stuffed animal corpses on the wall to whine in complaint, "5:30! But that's an hour and a half from now!"

England frowned at his former colony, "Well that's too bad. Besides didn't you eat a dozen hamburgers during the conference?"

"And five shakes!" Spain added laughing, warranting a glare from an un-amused America.

"Well, if you're really, really, really hungry…" Italy spoke up, "I could always make some pasta."

It wasn't necessarily what he wanted but when it came to food America was rather agreeable…As long as it wasn't anything England had cooked.

Italy and America's dreams were dashed however when Jeeves informed them they did not have pasta.

Unfortunately for America, France and China were in no mood to cook, much less was anyone else.

"Isn't there a town nearby where I could buy some?" Italy pleaded, trying not to cry.

England crossed his arms and tightly shut his eyes – a habit he had when trying to recall something. Shooting his eyes open his replied, "Actually yes. It's about a 40 minute walk though so there's really no point in going."

Italy didn't care how long the walk was, he was determined to have his pasta. He looked back to Germany and pointed to his shoe. Germany grunted knowing Italy was clearly asking the stronger nation to tie his laces for him.

Standing up, Italy turned to Japan, "Hey Japan! You'll come with me, right?"

Japan desperately wanted to answer 'we shall see' but realized Italy would not stop until the island nation agreed. "Okay Italy, I will go with you."

Italy looked to his brother, "You have to come with me too Romano! You can help pick out the tomatoes for the sauce!"

Romano let out a heavy sigh. He didn't want to accompany his brother on this journey but couldn't bring himself to resist the temptation of being in a market surrounded by tomatoes. "Fine, but only if the potato bastard isn't coming!"

"Whaaaat! Italy screeched, "That's crazy! Of course Germany's coming! He has to!"

"Well I'd rather not." Germany cut in, looking away from the soft Italian. He knew very well what he'd see if he glanced over. Hearing a few sniffles he caved and sure enough came face to face with that Italian puppy dog look.

Germany couldn't believe he was being suckered into going. "Fine, fine, just don't hug me or hold my hand or anything."

Veneziano raised his right hand to his brow, "Yes sir Captain!"

Germany released a grunting sigh as he felt like an even bigger fool.

"You're coming too, right Spain?" Lovino looked to his former boss.

"Me? No, no, no." Spain sweatdropped, waving his hands in front of him, "I'm gunna catch some Zs. That meeting tired me out."

"SPAAAAAAIIIIIIN!" Romano bellowed out in complaint.

"You don't need me to go with you Romano," Spain continued, pivoting on his heels, "You have a good time with Ita-chan and the others."

Spain waved as he headed down the hallway to his left.

"Well if you guys are headin' out," America butt in, "then I'm headin' out too."

"And where you do plan on going?" Russia asked curiously.

"I dunno," America replied, "I've got an hour and a half with nothing to do. Maybe I'll just run around the forest."

England gasped at America. He was clearly shocked and appalled, "You will most certainly _not_ do that! There's a wonderful pixie community out there and I will not have you scaring them away!"

France rolled his eyes and murmured quietly to Canada, "There he goes again with his fantasy stories."

America seemed quite pleased with England's response as he smirked and loudly publicized that England had now given him a good reason to go messing around in the woods. Before the Brit could protest the North American went flying out the door knowing his European counterpart would chase him.

He was right – England came bursting out behind him cursing the young man and his behaviour.

"Thank goodness those two are gone, aru. It's so much quieter." China said observingly.

"I suppose we should head out as well." Japan nodded to Germany in a suggestion for the town-bound group to leave.

Germany nodded back and the group of four left leaving China, Russia, France and Canada in the foyer.

The French nation stretched before informing the group with a wink that he was going to join Spain for a nap. His comment made China shudder and left Canada with an uneasy smile.

Russia, who was unaffected by France's perverseness said, "It's too bad there's no ice rink around here. Canada and I could have played a game of hockey."

"Oh, but we can!" Canada's face glowed with excitement, "If we can find a couple of nets and some hockey sticks we can play road hockey!"

"Good luck finding those…" China dampened the atmosphere, "You might be able to find soccer nets but I doubt you'll find ice hockey sticks…whatever those look like."

Canada and Russia exchanged looks of horror.

"China does not know what a hockey stick looks like!"

"That's madness!" Canada cried out following Russia's shock and confusion.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, having hit the main road, Germany and group realized they neglected to ask for a map.<p>

"We can just smell our way!" Italy's smiled sparkled as he smelt the air, "Ah! Can't you just smell the pasta!"

'Clearly he's delusional,' Germany thought to himself. His attention was caught by Japan who was fooling around with a little electrical device. Germany glanced at him curiously.

"Oh, it is my GPS." Japan smiled. He showed the German the screen, "See? The red dot indicates where we are. The blue dot shows the town we must go to."

Germany looked to his left, down the direction of the road he GPS indicated to go. "Well at least _someone_ on this team is reliable."

The four started down the road hoping the journey would not take more than the forty-two minutes and twenty-one seconds the GPS stated it would. With Italy and Romano bickering the whole way Germany suspected it would be.

* * *

><p>England stopped to catch his breath as he leaned against a tree. "Damn that America! He sure is fast!"<p>

Looking around he couldn't help but smile at the peaceful state of the forest. The light shimmering down through the cracks in the treetops bounced off the deep green leaves. _What a beautiful sight_.

England had nearly hit a state of bliss when America's loud, irritating voice echoed before him, "Tired already, Iggy?"

The Brit snapped, "You stupid git! I can't believe I bothered to chase after you! You're such a waste of my time!"

England continued to lecture and rant but was cut off as the scenery before him became wrapped in a misty fog.

"Dude!" America brushed his hand through the mist, "It's the London Fog."

England gave an annoyed sigh, "We're not in London anymore."

"So…it's _not_ the London Fog?"

"Well, it is _a_ fog and that's really all that matters. Although," England observed, "this one got very thick, very fast. I don't recall having seen one like this before…"

* * *

><p>Canada poked at the uneaten fat from the roast beef on his plate before looking at the clock. It was almost a quarter after six. "America and the others should've been back by now."<p>

"That's true." France added, "The thought of America missing dinner makes me uncomfortable."

Spain put on a brave face, "I'm sure they're just fine guys! They'll be back before you know it!"

"I hope not." China said after finishing his glass of water, "Chines likes the peace and quiet."

"Maybe they're all dead." Russia said abruptly causing everyone, even China, to stare with wide eyes. Sensing the mood Russia restrained himself, "I'm only kidding."

Immediately after a loud boom could be heard and a familiar voice yelled out, "Get outta my way! Spain! Spaaiiin!"

It was Romano!

Dashing out of the dining room, Antonio flagged the Southern Italian down, "What's wrong, Romano?"

"It's Veneziano! Veneziano and the others disappeared!"

Everyone gasped in surprise as Romano recounted how he and the Axis trio had been walking to the town when they were suddenly swallowed in a grey blanket of mist.

The five nations exchanged glances trying to comprehend everything Romano had told them. The group's conclusion seemed like an obvious one.

"Relax Romano," Spain patted his tan, young friend on the shoulder, "I'm sure you all just got separated in the mist. They'll show up soon enough."

France nodded, "Right."

Canada was not as confident. His facial expression showed his concern, "but what about America and England?"

"They probably got lost too…in the fog too…" Russia commented.

"Where is this fog? I don't see a fog!"

Everyone spun around at the sound of China's voice. He was in a fair sized office room with a white wooden desk and a chestnut brown, wall-to-wall library shelf bloating with books. The Asian was staring out of a giant, two piece window. It was getting dark outside, the sky fading from orange to a deep purple, but there was no fog.

France scratched his head, "Well that's odd."

Russia rubbed his chin, "Has anyone tried calling them?"

The other nations had an intellectual revelation. How could they have neglected to do something so simple? They immediately grabbed their cellphones while Russia gave a _hufufu_ for having out-thought the others.

It didn't take long to display the results.

"America's not answering." Canada frowned, looking more worried than before.

"Neither is Japan." China flipped the lid to his little black device.

"Maybe that's because your phones are faux pas." France said with his phone to his ear. China forced out a loud rebuttal but the Frenchman was too occupied with the never ending ring of his phone to pay attention, "England's not answering either."

"Argh!" Romano threw his cellphone to the ground, "Damn you, Veneziano! Why won't you pick up!"

Spain looked at the pieces of plastic and metal that had flung out and away from the cell. "Well, you'll never get a hold of him now. I guess we'll just have to do a good old fashion man hunt."

Yao blinked, "You mean you want to go out in the dark and look for them?"

"Yeah. But," Spain looked over his shoulder to the distressed Italian, "Romano should stay here."

"I can stay with him," Canada offered, "Since his cellphone is broken it'll be good to have someone stay behind who has a working one."

Agreeing to Canada's suggestion the remaining collection of nations headed off to find their missing compatriots.

* * *

><p>France swung the flashlight around slowly, lighting the path for himself and his fellow countries. They had decided to take the road Germany, Italy, Japan and Romano had travelled.<p>

China grumbled, "We really should've taken Romano with us. At least we would've known where they disappeared into the fog."

"Perhaps they went wandering into the woods." Russia pointed to the thick forest to the left of the road.

"They might've." Spain said, "The other side is just an open field."

"That's the forest America and England ran into isn't it?" France asked pointing his flashlight towards the bushes and trees.

"Must be…" Spain replied. He and France started walking towards the wooded area to explore.

"Hey wait a minute!" China called out, "You're going in!"

France looked back, "You're not? We might as well. It seems the others went this way."

Turning forward once again the Europeans were off. China and Russia followed in behind them.

After a while Spain began to notice something weird. "Is it just me or does it seem cloudier to anyone?"

France stopped dead in his tracks, "Yeah. I noticed it too."

"It's creepy." China added.

"Hey look," Russia pointed towards a clearing in the near distance, "is that a cabin out there?"

A small wooden cabin could be seen several yards in the distance. It was close enough to see thick grey smoke coming out of it when light pouring from the window.

"Maybe those people know what happened to those guys," France supposed.

"Or maybe our guys are in there right now!" Antonio grinned before racing off towards the cabin.

It did not take long to get there as Spain, the first one to reach their destination, flung open the door. What he saw startled him.

"You guys check it out!" He said, keeping his stare on the people inside, "Everyone is here."

Inside the tiny, one room cabin with a wooden bed in the back right corner laid their missing friends. They all appeared to be sleeping.

France ruffled America who was sitting against the left side near the cabin door. He was unresponsive.

China shook Japan who also didn't wake, "This is getting _really_ creepy now."

Spain brushed against Italy's cheek. The light skinned Italian looked to be in great discomfort. "I think he's having a nightmare."

The Spaniard looked to Germany who was asleep on a wooden chair, leaning over the matching wooden square table in the centre of the room.

Returning his attention he called Italy's name out loud. When the brunette failed to waken Spain looked to the nations who entered the cabin with him. "I can't get him to wake up."

"I know…this is very odd." Said Francis who was now kneeling beside England. The Brit was lying straight on the ground to the right of Italy from the doorway.

"Yeah…strange." Russia cooed with a very scary and hypnotizing look on his face.

Trying to ignore the pale European/Asian, China pulled out his phone. "We should call Canada…wait…what's his number? I deleted it out of my phone after his boss refused to show up to my Olympics."

"Uh…let's see…" France started. He was trying hard to remember his former colony's number but couldn't.

Spain chuckled, "He's really that invisible, huh?"

"Non, non." France rubbed his forehead, "My head is too cloudy and I'm feeling awfully tired."

"Now that you mention it…" China dropped his phone struggling to keep his eyes open.

Russia had already fallen asleep as Spain struggled to keep himself off the floor. "What...is going on?" He muttered to himself before he joined France, China, Russia and all the others in a deep sleep on the floor of the little cabin.

* * *

><p>End Notes:<p>

~The G20 was created by former Canadian Finance Minister Paul Martin (who would become Prime Minister shortly after) in 1999. Canada was chairman of the council for the first three years (1999-2001) though the first official meeting was held in Berlin, Germany in 1999. The U.K. was chair in 2009… XD So I guess this is set in '09. Spain and Switzerland are not members by themselves, but would be represented through the European Union, which is a member.

~Yes, Canadians have "cowboys and rodeos" too. There's a famous rodeo held in Alberta every year called the "Calgary Stampede".

~Spain was a guest for the first time at a G8 meeting in 2009. China is part of the +5 program the G8 currently has…since France and the UK want to extend the membership numbers.

~Yes, Canada's boss (Stephen Harper) really did refuse to go to China for the 2008 Beijing Olympics. He claims he couldn't because of work-related issues but the Chinese, who, at the time, thought rather highly of Canada, were still pretty upset.

~Canada was a colony of France's between the early 16th century to 1763. Sometimes he was called Canada, sometimes Quebec, and sometimes New France…but it's all the same thing. There was also a neighbouring French colony, now New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, which was known as Acadia.


	2. To Protect My Friends Italy's CH

Chapter Two – Italy: To Protect my Friends

A/N: Sorry this took so long. I already had it written a long time ago, but I've been focused on another story so…with that…chapter three will probably take a while to be loaded too. Sorry in advance.

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><p>Italy had wandered up the same street twice. He poked his head down every ally way and questioned nearly every person who game him eye contact. After all this he was still lost. He had assumed he was in the down he, Germany, Japan, and Romano were headed to but people just nodded against that. They kept insisting they were in Deutschland – wherever that was. Oh how Italy wished he could find Germany…<p>

"Hey wait!" The Italian stopped pacing. On a wooden stand in a show window laid a familiar sight – Germany's sausages!

Racing in, Veneziano looked up at the hulky, blonde haired man with an equally bleached mustache. "Uh…um…do you…where did…?" Out of fear of the great, bear-looking man, Italy just pointed at the food.

The buff man stared at the skinny Italian down, "Wurst."

"Yeah," Italy did his best to smile, "but where did you get it?"

Luckily the man was proficient in other languages – surprising for a butcher. "Here."

"But where is here?"

"Deutschland."

"And where is that?"

"Here…"

Italy blinked. That wasn't a very helpful answer. He'd have to be more specific. "How do you get to Germany from here?"

The butcher stared from behind the counter as though he were frozen in time. After a moment he spoke, "You are here."

Italy was now confused. Since when was Germany called Deutschland and since when did he look so different…Oh wait! Italy had finally hit upon something. Germania IS Deutschland! Italy slapped himself on the forehead. How could he have forgotten! That still didn't explain the change in scenery. Oh well, maybe Germany had just rebuilt this part of the country since he was last there.

"So where's Berlin?"

"Up road." The butcher pointed using broken phrases to explain. "Italienisch embassy."

The Italian embassy? Italy figured he _must_ be in Berlin. He figured if he found Germany than everything would be explained…he'd feel safer too. After asking the butcher to point the way to Germany – err… Deutschland's main building he was on his way.

Veneziano carried himself down the street, took a right at the end, marched past his own embassy and continued to centre square near the end of the road. He could not believe he was this close and didn't even realize it. But this _was_ Italy so…panic first, think rationally later.

Walking up marble steps he found his way to the government building. They would certainly know how to find Germany. Feliciano carefully opened the door and peaked inside.

"Hello? Can anyone tell me where to find Germany?"

The people inside were bustling and busy. 'Come to think of it,' Italy recapped in his head, 'The people on the streets seemed to be in a big hurry too.'

Closing the door behind him the Italian went inside. He glided to the front desk and patiently waited for the lady on the phone to pay him some attention.

The phone all must've been important because he never seemed to stop talking. Italy caught a few words in between spacing out. Things like: defense system, military, invasion. The brown haired Italian wondered if Germany was planning an attack on someone. "Probably big brother France."

Veneziano's concentration – or rather lack of – was broken as he was approached by a gentleman. "Oh Italy. How _wunderbar_ of you to visit us. Germany is at his townhouse. I am leaving now and can take you there."

"That's great!" Italy cheered. He didn't recognize the young man but that didn't stop him from taking up his offer. It was better than waiting for the never-ending phone call to conclude. This twenty-something year old must know him anyway; he did call him by name.

Feliciano skipped out behind the man and got into the passenger side of the vehicle. It was a black Volkswagen…no surprise.

The two travelled for several blocks. Along the way the man asked about Italy's economy, his brother Romano and what the purpose of his visit was.

"Oh, I'm…not sure." Italy confessed, "I just woke up here. I was hoping Germany would know."

"What makes you think Germany would know?"

Italy turned with a giant, lively grin on his face, "Because! Germany is smart! He knows everything!"

The youthful lad laughed, "Well I'm happy that you think so highly of our country. I'm glad Germany had good friends like you, Italy."

Veneziano beamed with pride. He felt lucky to be friends with Germany too.

The car came to a stop in front of a row of brick townhouses.

"Here we are."

Italy got out of the car and was accompanied to the door.

"_Guten Tag_ Albert!" a little old lady watering her garden called.

"Guten Tag to you, too, Mrs. Koff." The young man waved.

'Ah, Albert.' Italy thought to himself. 'I'll have to try remembering that name so I can send him some pasta to thank him for driving me to Germany's house.'

Albert knocked on the door but no one answered. "I'm sure he's here. He was expecting someone today."

Italy opened the door, "That's ok! I'll just go inside and wait. Thanks Albert."

Albert looked nervous but tipped his hat in approval. He trotted down the stairs and headed back into the car and drove away after one final wave.

Feliciano wondered down the main floor hall. He reached a room with no door and peered inside.

"Japan!"

Japan looked up to see Italy's smiling face, "Oh, Italy. What brings you here?"

Veneziano still wasn't sure how he'd gotten from England to Germany so he gave a simple response, "I'm just visiting. How come you're here, Japan?"

Kiku smiled sweetly, "Doitsu-san would like to purpose a trading agreement between the two of us so I'm here to discuss the details."

Italy blinked, "If you wanted to trade with me, why didn't you just ask me?"

Japan's smile turned to a nervous one, "No, I meant an agreement between Germany-san and I, not you. I am sorry if I confused you."

The Italian laughed, "Oh that's okay, Japan. Hey…where is Germany anyway?"

"Ah," The Asian started, "he said he needed a moment to review some of the changes I made to the agreement."

The mood suddenly changed as Japan's expression was exchanged for a more sympathetic one. "I hate to impose but, I know Germany-san would not like to be disturbed right now. Perhaps you could find something to do while waiting for our diplomatic arrangement to finish."

At first Italy was disappointed and the frown on his face showed as much but he managed to put on a smile, "Sure! While you guys are doing your trade thingy I'll make some pasta. I'm sure you'll both be hungry when you're done."

Kiku nodded, "That would be most appreciated."

The Italian waved goodbye and turned on his heels. He exited the room and turned left towards the back of the townhouse where the kitchen was. To cheer himself up he hummed a tune along the way.

Upon entering the kitchen Italy made his way to the cupboards. He opened them searching for a bag of pasta. No luck. He turned to the Lazy Susan. Bingo! There was a big bag of penne not yet open. Veneziano pulled out the bag and set it on the counter.

Opening a base cupboard near the sink he found a medium sized silver pot. Feliciano filled it with cold water and set it on the front left burner of the stove. He clicked and spun the knob to medium-high to let the water boil.

Italy watched for a few minutes as steam started to rise from the pot, "Oh!" Something important had hit him, "I almost forgot! It needs a dash of salt!"

He headed back to the first cupboard where he had seen a bag of salt while looking for pasta. The brunette grabbed a pinch from the bag and sprinkled it into the pot.

A minute more and it was ready for the pasta. Italy dumped the whole bag in convincing himself that once could never have enough pasta.

"Uh…Italy…"

The deep familiar voice startled the Italian. He whirled around to see Germany in the hall staring at him.

"Germany!" Italy raced over to his best friend's side. He began to mumble with speed, "Germany! Something weird is going on! We were all having a G20 meeting at England's house but it was going nowhere so England postponed it and then we went to his countryside estate and –"

"Italy, I'm really busy I – "

The Venetian continued rambling, " – So America and England ran off to the forest and my, you, Japan and Romano went to go get pasta from the next town and then some crazy mist showed up and – "

"Italy!" Germany's temple was throbbing, "Does this story have any point?"

Hearing the commotion Japan popped a concerned head out to the hallway to observe.

Feliciano paused for a second before blurting out, "We were in England and now all of a sudden we're here!"

Ludwig gave a frustrated sigh, "I don't know what you're talking about. Japan and I have been here all day."

"But Germany – "

"No 'buts'. Now if you don't mind I have some very important business to attend to."

Veneziano frowned, "At least…eat some pasta."

The German sighed, feeling rather guilty, "Alright fine. Bring some in when it's done."

Italy couldn't bring himself to smile. He slunk back into the kitchen while Germany turned and headed to the room Japan was peeking out of.

Combining meat, tomatoes, tomato paste and some spices together the pasta sauce could now be added. All that was left was the cheese. Veneziano always kew the right amount to be added for the dish to blend nicely together.

He carried two dishes to the meeting room, opting to feed himself last. As he walked he saw Germany signing a stack of papers.

"Oh, Italy," Japan glanced over, "we are finished out meeting now."

The Italian gave a soft smiling feeling rather grateful that he hadn't interrupted them.

Germany leaned back looking at the plates with pasta on them. He could smell the strong aroma of the sauce, "It looks good."

"That's good!" Italy began to feel more like himself again, "I made it especially for you guys."

"Where is your plate, Italia-kun?"

"Oh! It's in the kitchen still! I'll go get it! Be right back!"

Italy raced off to the kitchen and returned with a plate of much larger than the other two.

"Ah," he cooed sitting down, "I love pasta."

Germany pushed his chair back and stood up causing Japan and Italy to stare.

"Is something wrong, Doitsu-san?" Japan asked quizzically.

"_Ja_. We need drinks." Germany exited the room, which looked rather similar to a small dining room with a six-person table and china cabinet in it.

"So!" Italy looked over at Japan, "What kind of trading agreement were you guys coming up with?"

"Well…" Japan was about to explain when a loud, booming alarm echoed from outside.

Ludwig came racing into the room, "We're under attack!"

Italy was scared and confused. The Second World War had ended more than sixty-five years ago and by the twenty-first century communism was no longer a threat in Europe. Was it terrorists maybe?

Whatever it was Veneziano didn't get time to ask as he and Japan were rushed out of the house and into the street.

Outside Feliciano noticed the woman working on her garden. She was now in the middle of the street hollering to some young boys down the road and waved at them frantically. Germany, in the meantime was on his cellphone trying to find answers.

Italy grasped Japan's hand as the siren continued to blare across the city. Japan carried a worried expression he glanced every which way for signs of the intruders.

Above them a plane whizzed by dropping a ball of something into the city. As it exploded upon impact the Italian realized it was a bomb. He watched as another, smaller plane forcefully crashed itself into a building.

People were screaming everywhere, covering their heads with their arms.

At once, Germany began barking orders to the masses, "Everyone! Into the subway! Into the subway!"

Japan released himself from Italy's grip and helped Germany direct all the people in the vicinity to the nearest subway entry point.

Veneziano was frozen, feeling absolutely helpless. He was also greatly confused. The Europe he left was economically shattered but at peace…this Europe was at war.

"Italy!" Germany waved and called out, "Hurry up and get over here!"

The Italian was frozen and couldn't move. Seeing the eyes of his friends widen in shock he gulped and turned around to face the invading army.

Before him stood roughly two hundred and fifty soldiers dressed in black with military rifles. Their faces were covered with tilted glass from their helmets making it hard to guess which country they were from.

"You _dummkopf_!" Germany tightly wrapped his hand around Italy's arm, "don't just stand there!"

The black generic looking soldier pointed their guns at the two nations. One spoke up directing a challenge at Germany. It was a fight to the death.

Germany scoffed. There was no way a bunch of humans could defeat him. Contrary to Japan's protesting he agreed.

Japan sighed, "If you are going to fight them then as an ally I must assist you."

Germany was going to tell him otherwise but the determined look on the Asian's face suggested there was no point, "Alright. We'll fight together."

Next, he turned his attention to Italy, "I want you to help all the people get underground. Do you understand?"

Saying nothing the brunette nodded and ran towards the crowd trying to squeeze themselves down the stairs to the subway.

"Okay guys!" Italy waved his arms frantically, "Run away everyone! In the subway! _Andiamo_! Germany will protect us all!"

Veneziano followed the crowd inside holding onto the wall as bombs continued to burst above.

As the German population and handfuls of noticeable tourists packed into the subway, Italy started to feel nauseous. His stomach started turning as the butterflies began to flutter inside. Fearing the worst Italy put on a brave face and climbed back up the stairs hoping his instincts were wrong.

He was horrified to find that they were, in fact, right. Sometime while Feliciano was helping the masses underground, Germany had been struck down by a gang of soldiers.

Italy trembled, "G-Germany!"

Looking to his right he saw Japan rather banged up but still standing.

"Japan!"

"Stay back, Italy!" Kiku yelled without looking back to the Italian. He was holding a long, steel pipe – where he would have found it, Italy didn't know.

A soldier in black made a swift move to grab Japan's pipe in older to unarm the Asian but Kiku evaded and took a swipe at the shoulder blade of the next nearest black suit. The soldier toppled over into another soldier as a group of men jumped at Japan at the same time.

Italy watched in fear as they dragged his eastern friend to the ground. Again, he couldn't bring himself to move.

"Italy!" a booming voice snapped him back to reality. He looked over to see Germany struggling to crawl to him. He was being held down by three army men. "Italy! You have to do something! These people are too strong!"

Italy paced in a circle failing his arms around, "I don't know what to do! I don't know what to do!"

Again his attention was drawn to Japan. Tears swelled in his eyes as he watched one of the enemy personnel take the steel pipe and continuously hit Japan with it while he laid on the ground. Broken and bloodied, Kiku winced a few times before laying still as he soldier continued to strike his shoulders, legs and head.

Italy looked back to Germany. The pain on both of their faces could easily be read.

"Don't worry about Japan he'll…"

Tears were pouring out of the Italian's puffy, brown eyes, "Germany! They killed him! They killed Japan!"

Germany, with a broken shoulder continued to speak with a questionable confidence, "He'll be fine! Italy you need to get help!"

Venezino shook his head, "but I can't move."

"You have to try!" Germany managed to push one aggressor off only to have two more latch on.

"You have to come with me! I can't do this by myself!"

"Yes you can!" He was now drowning in black soldiers.

Feliciano began to scream and cry harder as the foe with the bloody steel pipe slowly made his way to Ludwig. Before the Italian could fully comprehend what he was doing his legs began to move and his found himself blocking the soldier's path to Germany – hands flung out in protest, "Please stop!"

When the man in black reached the Italian he roughly pushed him aside. The shove was powerful enough to send Italy falling to the pavement.

Everything after was a slow motion blur. Italy watched through cold, darkened, shocked eyes as his best friend was held down and repeatedly assaulted in the head with the steel pipe. Dazed, Veneziano watched his comrade fall to the ground, blood pouring down his face. Was this real? Could all of this really be happening?

After a while time seemed to catch up Italy. He dragged himself across the street drowning out the screams of the people being tortured in the subway. When he reached Germany he placed a hand on the fist of the German. Soon it was his cheek, stained with tears, that was brushing across the German's hand.

"Germany," He squeaked out, "I'm so sorry."

Dead, blank eyes stared back. Deep down Veneziano knew it was useless to continue but he had to say it for himself.

"I'm sorry. If I was stronger I could've fought too. If I was braver I could've saved you and Japan."

Italy grew cold as a shadow loomed over him. He heard the sound of a gun click. Then a trigger was pulled and a loud bang was heard. Everything went black.

* * *

><p>Italy slowly opened his eyes as a few tears rolled back to his ears. He was lying on the ground of a wooden floor. Taking a soft, quiet breath he pulled himself up and looked around.<p>

Sitting at the table in front of where he was lying was Germany. Veneziano got up and poked his friend a few times. When Germany finally grunted Italy gave a sigh of relief. He was alive. He looked over to Japan and saw the Asian breathing rhythmically. They were both okay.

Sitting back down Italy decided it would be best to not bother anyone. Instead he would quietly wait until all his friends woke up.

Taking another quick glance at everyone in the cabin the Italian reflected on his dream. No, not a dream…a nightmare.

* * *

><p>End Notes:<p>

~Germania is Italian for Germany. Italienisch is German for Italian.

~Wunderbar is "wonderful" in German

~Guten Tag is "Good Day" in German

~Ja is "Yeah" in German

~Dummkopf is "Idiot" in German

~Andiamo is "Hurry (up)!" in Italian.


	3. Destroying my Best Friend  America's CH

Chapter Three – America: Destroying my Best Friend

A/N: XD Yeah, I'm slow…I should have written the whole story before posting. Now you guys have to suffer through my procrastination. My apologies!

A/N2: The first half has French, but by the end I got lazy…besides, I can't have half my story's dialogue in another language…think of how long the translation notes would be!

A/N3: You'll notice that I spell "Canadian" "Canadien". This is because the latter is the French way of spelling it…and since we're dealing with the people of New France…well…the rest is obvious.

A/N4: When the farmers refer to America in French they use "vous" and the relevant conjugations HOWEVER if, in your story, you have Canada or France speaking French to a nation they are well acquainted with they will use "tu" and its conjugations. This is because "tu" is used for those you know and "vous" is used for those you don't know.

* * *

><p>America grumbled as he felt himself repeatedly being prodded by something hard and slightly cylinder. He shot his eyes open to stare down the perpetrators. They were a bunch of scruffy looking kids wearing tattered breaches and dull, tanned shirts. One had an old farm hat on. They ran away as America stood, snatching the tree branch they'd been poking him with. He raised an eyebrow as they shouted obscenities at him in a rather familiar language.<p>

"Were those kids speaking French?"

Alfred rubbed the back of his head checking out the scenery. It looked like some medieval village with wooden huts and small pockets of fertile farmland. The American blinked and wandered off to the nearest group of people.

They were ladies with long, dark brown skirts, their shoulders covered with a fur shawl. America nodded, thinking them to be rather brave wearing such things in the snow. Normally he'd be dressed head-to-toe in multiple layers of clothing with a hoodie and heavy winter jacket. He just couldn't understand how Alaska and Minnesota could run around outside in the cold in shorts or a t-shirt.

"Um, excuse me ladies?" America smiled and waved his hands, catching their attention, "Is there an information booth around here or something 'cause I'm totally lost. It's incredibly awkward having to ask, heroes normally know everything and I _am_ a hero but, I don't recognize this place right off the bat so if you could help me out here…"

The American blinked as the four women, one with her hair done up in a braided bun, chatted in that same language.

As they continued to speak rapidly with a hint of nervousness in their speech America glanced around him. It was definitely French he was hearing. He didn't know the language all that well but did pick up on little words he'd heard France and Canada say before; words like "oui" and "qu'est-ce qui c'est" and "pour que". From this he surmised that he must be in either France or Quebec, or maybe that other province…what was it called again? New Brunswick?

Finally, a gentleman who had joined the ladies' conversation approached him. Alfred had been too busy trying to narrow down his options on his location to notice some of the farmer men gather nearby.

The farmer, with a rusty black beard, pointed to America with the hand not holding a pitchfork, "Avez-vous un Anglais?"

America had heard a word very similar to that one before. Angleterre was what France sometimes called England. America shook his head and placed a hand on his chest suggesting he would refer to himself, "No, no, no. Me…American."

This revelation caused much anxious chatter amongst the present population who all seemed rather angry and fearful all at once.

"American!" The farmer was rather alarmed, "C'est un criminal! Enfermez lui!"

"Wait, wait!" America shrieked as he was jumped on by greasy looking men. "What's going on here! I demand to see my lawyer!"

The Yankee was roughly tossed onto a wooden carriage being pulled by two chestnut brown horses. The two men who jumped him, and by now had bound him with leather rope, accompanied him along with the farmer who screamed at him.

America glared hard at them, "At least tell me where the hell I am and where I'm going! You might also want to point out the nearest American Consulate so I can file a complaint!"

The three men looked at each other and shrugged. Realizing they couldn't understand, America drew on the little French he knew.

"Qu'est-ce c'est am je?"

The Frenchmen stared at him blankly before erupting into laughter. America growled and blushed. His French had clearly failed him.

Ignoring the boisterous men he looked behind him at the landscape. Beside the bumpy dirt road was a large patch of grass that travelled horizontally for miles. Several metres away began a thick, dark forest. He saw a patch of smoke emanating from an area in the woods – most likely from a cabin out there.

)()()()()(

The carriage pulled up to a large stone wall lite up with fire torches. Inside the wall, people were much livelier than the villagers but there was still an air of panic…especially when they saw Alfred.

Continuing down the large cobble path they stopped in front of a large stone building, parking behind a covered cariole.

America gazed at the building starting at street-point, moving up to the highest floor. He was interrupted by a yank on his bomber jacket as the farmer pulled him off the cart and dragged him inside.

Entering, America immediately realized this was a prison. He could not believe these people were throwing him in jail; and for what? He decided he'd explain his story to a major news network or write a book about it. That would teach these people to never mess with America again!

The jailer didn't say much but seemed to all too happy to comply with the villagers wishes after he was informed of Alfred's nationality.

Landing on the cold floor he looked up to see a few pale, sunken faces and a couple of Indians, or Native Americans as they preferred to be called now.

"So," Alfred sat up, dusting off his jacket and pants, "Why'd they throw you guys in the slammer? I was tossed in for being an unexpected tourist."

The men exchanged glances unsure of what to say.

It was all too much for the American as he screamed, "Doesn't anyone speak English in this damn country!"

"A damned colony it is," an old man in his sixties with a white beard and straw hat replied, "we all speak English in here. That's _why_ we're here. They don't trust us."

America frowned, "Why not?"

"Why should they?" Another, younger man responded, "We _are_ trying to take this land."

Alfred was now confused, "Why?"

"Because!" a third man sputtered, "Those Frenchmen are a threat and disease! Those horrible Catholic Canadiens will take over this whole continent if-"

"Hold up!" America jumped up, "Wait…_Canadiens_? Are we in Canada?" He'd already guessed the answer. As he had travelled the scenery the things about colonial life had started creeping up on him. Now it had all been confirmed.

The man nodded, "Of course! Right now we're in Ville de Quebec."

America thought for a moment before it dawned on him, "Oh! Quebec City! Dude! This is awesome! I've like…time-travelled or something!"

The five white men and two Natives stared at him awkwardly as he continued rolling out his thoughts verbally, "I should totally find Canada! I can scare the crap outta him by telling him we get married and stuff! He'll freak! Oh! Oh! And then I can invent everything cool we've ever had right away! Canada can't wave his stupid Alexander Graham Bell telephone in my face because I'll have invented it first! Oh and to _really_ piss him off I'll event hockey too! This is gunna be great!"

America continued to grin until he noticed the sour look on his company's face "Is something the matter, guys?"

Aside feeling awed by this futuristic looking person they were rather annoyed and disappointed by his attitude towards the situation.

"What is so joyous about this?" The first man spoke, "You act as though this colony is a friend."

America could only draw a heartbroken frown as the old man continued to scold him, "Canada is our enemy and needs to be destroyed! His existence is a threat to our Protestant American expansion! They should be forced to leave and that little French brat should be burned at the stake."

America breathed in slowly as he came to the full realization of where he was. He wasn't sure of the exact date but it was definitely the War of the French and Indians or, as Canada called it, the Seven Years War. He shuffled his feet embarrassed to think that he himself once thought so lowly of the neighbouring nation he'd now come to like –even love, and admire.

But wait! He'd gone back in time through the mist! Maybe he could change their fates! If he tried to reason with Canada and make a peace treaty then maybe the two could end the war before it started. This time he'd protect Canada, not hurt him.

"Now listen," The second man, a New Jersey printer with jet black hair started, "I don't plan on staying in this damn jail forever. We need to bust out of here and report back to our British colonies."

America shuddered lightly, recalling the days when he lived under England's rule. He hardly ever thought of it anymore but the present situation made him reflect on it more than he would've liked to. He remembered the toy soldiers England had handcrafted for him, the European books that bored America to no end, the days when they'd playfully chase each other before settling down for a midday snack…

"…and after we've successfully infiltrated the Marquis' house we'll find that despicable child and make waste of him."

Alfred quickly looked up, snapping himself out of his daydream, "Wait, what are you doing?"

The third man, who had a distinctly southern accent, one that could only be found in South Carolina, groaned and rolled his eyes, "Weren't you listening? We're going to spring ourselves from the jail, find our soldiers, report to them about the defense of the city, then make haste in returning to destroy their colony."

Before America could protest the fourth, a simple fisherman from Massachusetts, asked, "Where are you from anyway?"

"New York." A Native American answered, staring into Alfred eyes, piercing his soul.

The blond-haired nation froze. The Native Americans had always been intimidating to him. He hated to admit it but…they kind of scared him. Not wanting to challenge the robust, tanned man he nodded.

The fifth white American colonist interrupted the silence, "How exactly are we going to break out?"

"Easy!" The printer responded, "We cause a commotion. Make the jailer come over here and try to beat us. When he does…BAM we grab the key and get out of here."

"Do you really think that's going to work?" Alfred asked. If it were up to him he'd call Japan and have him make a tiny robot that turns into a giant robot at the click of a button and just bust out through the roof. Of course, being the hero he was he didn't need anyone's help, he could just bend the bars and walk out…but he'd let these guys try their idea. He didn't want to isolate himself any more than he already had.

)()()()()(

A cool breeze brushed past the bars on the window of the jail cell filling the room with a hanging chill. America rubbed his hands together, still neatly placed inside his leather gloves, for warmth. He was feeling the night air all over his body and it made him shiver. He could barely comprehend what the other men felt, all of whom were dressed lightly in comparison. Especially the Natives, who were in their traditional garments.

When the jailer came to feed them the American colonist nodded to each other to signal the start of their plan. Two men would grab the jailer while another fished around for the cell key.

The French guard, an averaged sized man with a scruffy chestnut brown beard, opened the metal gate and laid down a tray with heavily watered down soup. As he pushed himself back up using the legs in his muscles he was jumped on by the fisherman and the printer. The fifth man, a New Englander merchant, tore open the pockets lining the Frenchman's blue jacket, grunting every time one was found to be empty.

"Uh…you guys," America blinked. He had noticed a fancy, shiny tool lying on the ground next to the tray with soup on it.

The men ignored him and continue to pry open every pocket on their captive.

"You guys," America raised his voice. When one of them finally looked over he pointed down to the key, resting soundly on the ground.

All four men, the American colonist and the Frenchman, made a quick dash for the key but the North Carolinian was the quickest. He snatched up the object and raced out of the cell, slamming the door after he exited and locking it.

"What are you doing, Isaiah!" The New Jersey citizen shouted, "Let us out!"

"You can all rot in this cell while I report the information to the British army! Surely they'll aware me handsomely with lots of land!" Isaiah hollered as he dashed out of the prison.

"Dude, that's jank!" America shot out, grabbing the bars of the cellar. He shook them to show frustration but ended up cracking them instead. He blinked at the broken bars in his hands, then turned to face the stares of the other men, "Uh-oh."

"…You…broke the bars." The first man, a Virginia native, said in surprise.

"Yeeeeeeeaaaaaah." America acknowledged, rubbing the back of his head.

"Break the rest them!" The printer added without a second to waste.

America instinctively turned to the Natives to read their expression. As he expected they barely had any emotion on their face.

"Well," He shrugged with a grin, "Okay, I guess."

Ripping open the bars, he decided that these guys would never be able to get out of the city anyway. The cell would be open for them _and_ the jailer to get out and surely the jailer would notify the authorities. He didn't like the idea of his fellow Americans getting caught again, but it would buy him some time to find Canada and warn him.

Racing out of the cell, ignoring the calls of the French guard, half because he didn't care, half because he couldn't understand him anyway, Alfred raced down the stone cold hall, past the lobby where two other jailers sat startled by the breakout and pushed through the front door and out into the street.

Hitting the pavement he raced around the city, glowing by candle-lit streetlights, looking for the Marquis' home. If what the prisoners said was true, then Canada would be there. He needed to confront the young colony and encourage him to seek peace with his younger self and England. If the Seven Years War could be prevented then he could avoid one hundred and eighty years plus of strangeness from his neighbour.

)()()()()(

America stared up at a large, fancy gothic mansion convinced this was the place he should be. He had asked, using his best French accent, "Marquis? Marquis?" and his efforts led him here.

Running up the block steps he pounded away at the jet black doors. A young woman, nicely kept with delicate brown curls under a pink hat, opened the door.

"Please don't scream, please don't get mad, please don't call the cops," America yelled out exhaustively, "Just let me in, I need to talk to Canada!"

The young woman, her dress equally pink and white, stared at the panting man. She hesitated, unsure of how to act. Another older woman in a navy blue dress crept up quickly behind her and stared down at America. Alfred was certain the woman was her mother. He repeated the last part of his ramble.

The woman glared at him before shouting, "Anglais!"

"No, no, no!" Alfred shouted back, "Canada! I need Canada!"

"You will never destroy this colony!" The woman harped at him in a heavy accent. "Go die somewhere!"

"C'mon lady! This is seriously important! Canada's like my bro!"

The woman glanced at him slowly from head-to-toe. Determining the funny looking man to be sincerely by the look on his face, she moved back to let him in. Not before America was fully in the door she instructed a guard in her house (making America nervous again) to pat down the blonde to ensure he had no weapons on him. Finding none the guard assured everything was safe – making America glad he had left his gun at home instead of bringing it to the G20 meeting.

The woman guided Alfred down the hall, leaving her daughter and the guard behind. She brought him into a study where America's eyes were caught by an old man writing furiously with a feather and ink on a piece of parchment. He muttered something, wiggling his nose with his glasses hanging on the edge as he scribbled another line on the tanned paper.

America's eyes also caught another figure in the room. This one was more recognizable to him, "Canada!"

The young boy with blonde locks looked at him with an aggressive curiosity. He tilted his head snootily and looked away, ignoring the American's presence.

Alfred grumbled to himself, reminding himself that Canada was once a snooty brat. Regardless, he still had to stop the invasion. He knew England would screw him over eventually and it'd be nice to have Canada on his side this time around too. After all, wasn't the old saying bros before hoes? Wait, did that even fit in this scenario? America shook his head exiting his thoughts, all that mattered was that if he had to choose between the two, he'd choose Canada over England every time. Especially since Canada had cheap fresh water…that might come in handy one day. Not to mention diamonds and oil. Well…England had oil (Scotland's oil) but he didn't have diamonds.

Putting his thoughts behind him he marched towards the desk. Canada noticed his approached and watched him carefully.

"I'm here to see you. It's business." America slammed his hands on the chestnut brown desk. It felt cool and smooth on his hands.

The man looked, then pushed himself up to sit straight in his red velvet covered chair, "Avez-vous Anglais…"

"Yeah, yeah, we all got that." America rolled his eyes, "You must speak English…that lady over there does and I'm guessing she's your wife."

"Oui." The man blinked, curling one hand into the other behind the wooden structure, "What kind of business are you proposing, sir?"

"I'm suggesting that you find me-er…America, and propose peace with him!"

The old man burst out into a raving laughter, "Make peace with that little monster!"

"Are you stupid!" Canada cut into the conversation, his voice still high in his nine or ten year old looking body, "America is the one who attacked us!"

It had been a long time since America had heard Canada speak with a thick French accent. He took a moment to remind himself that this really was the young man he thought of as a brother.

"Yeah," Alfred lamented, recalling how one of the towns in his northern colonies struck up a deal with the Natives to burn down one of Canada's villages, "And I'm sure he's sorry about that. I mean, you guys are practically brothers!"

"No we are not!" Canada was fuming, "I would never look at that piece of English garbage as a brother!"

The older blond frowned. He began to question what his and Canada's relationship might be like if he continued on with this peace negotiation. Because if Canada was going to be a pompous prick like this if he stayed French than maybe an invasion really was better…

Before he could decide a loud booming sound outside was heard.

"Les Americans!" Men and women were screaming, racing down the streets to avoid being fired at by musket balls.

"How did they get into the city!" Canada shouted running up to the window and looking out.

[It does not matter! We need to organize the militia now!] The grey haired man jumped up from his seat and raced out of the room.

Canada followed behind trailed by America and the woman. They exited the building together and noticed the perpetrators.

"Hey!" America noticed the figures, "It's those dudes! From the jail!"

"Who?" The woman glared at him.

"Oh," America scratched his neck, "It's a long story. When I got here some smelly farmer dudes tied me up and brought me aaaaaaallllllll the way out here –"

"I don't want to hear your stupid story!" The woman barked at him.

"Sir," The head of the house called out to a fellow on the street, "Where are the Americans coming from!"

"The main gate," The man hollered back. He was dressed finely in tanned and brown coloured clothing. He continued to shout in French, "Not just Americans though! There are red coats too!"

"The Brits." Canada growled.

America looked around as a line of line of red coats turned the corner. The person leading the march looked strangely familiar. He squinted his eyes until the figure was clear. Oh. My. God. It was England. America jumped off the stairs and took flight down the street. The three that remained behind yelled at him to return and questioned where he was going. The woman called for the guard to chase after him but he stayed hesitant.

)()()()()(

America chased England as he and a smaller group of red coats headed off into another direction, "Hey! Wait! Waaaaiiiiit!"

"England!" America caught up to the Brit and grabbed a hold of him, "Dude! Call this thing off! Stop invading Canada!"

The Brit blinked uncertain to what he was seeing, "A-America?"

"Yeah, dude!" America grinned, "It's me!"

"B-but…" England staggered. He had had some ale earlier before charging into battle…but surely he hadn't had enough to make him drunk.

"It's a long story," America explained, "I'll explain later, but right now I need you to call this all off!"

The scruffy blond shook his head, releasing his shoulder's from Alfred's grip, "Are you daft! First you _want _me to invade; now you don't! And when did you get big!"

"Argh!" America threw his hands in the air, "Whatever! If you won't stop this then I will!"

Alfred ignored England's calls and turned on his heels to head back to the manor. When he found it again he was startled by the vision before him. Canada was standing, his brows furrowed, staring harshly at the boy opposite him. America frowned, knowing who he was glaring at.

"It's me." He whispered to himself. His surroundings faded out – the dying soldiers crying for their mothers, the orphaned children screaming, angry threats in English and French…. His full focus was on the two boys ahead of him.

"Well…" The young America grinned, "at last we meet."

"Oui." Canada said, still studying his opponent with a sharp eye.

"It's too bad it won't last." Little America smirked, pulling out a bayonet, "You won't live long enough for there to be another meeting."

Canada, or Mathieu as he was sometimes called, narrowed his eyes, a look of rage deep in his irises. "That is not likely. I will expel you from my home and bar you out for life! I will not let you destroy me!"

"Oh yeah! Well I'm not going to let you destroy me either!" Young America lunged at Canada with his blade but was forced back by a larger person. "Hey! What's going on!"

"Stop it!" Alfred could no longer sit on the sidelines and watch as the two beat each other out of existence. "Don't fight you guys! You have a lot more in common than you think! Just talk to each other!"

"I have no time for talking!" The younger American shouted. He reached into his side pocket and pulled out a smaller hand gun. He whipped his arm up and shot at Canada point blank.

America stared bewildered as Canada stood still, shock written on his face. The young _Canadien_ had been shot in the chest.

America grabbed his younger self and shook him violently, "What hell dude! What did you just do! Where the hell did you get a gun!"

As his younger self wiggled away America's mind flashed back to the same scene. He remembered standing before Canada in the raid on the city, knife in hand…but…there was no gun! _Where'd I get the gun from?_

Frantically looking around America found the culprit. His younger self had managed to get away and raced towards the New Jersey printer from the jail cell. America's eyes bulged out of his head as it dawned on him that Canada's injury was his fault.

Turning back around Alfred saw Canada limped over on the ground, holding his wound. The tall blonde nation jumped over to him and held him. Canada's breathing had quickened into little gasps as America glanced at the blow which appeared to penetrate the area containing his lounges.

"Dude, hang in there! C'mon, don't die on me!" America screamed as he held the nation he often thought of as a brother, "I'll take you to a hospital! You've got free healthcare, right!"

In a dazed panicked he called out to anyone in the vicinity for help, but those who were around were too occupied in their own fights. A canon ball came hurdling towards them, most likely shot from outside the city, and crashed into the building the two were huddling near. America covered the young Canada from being covered in dust and debris. Pulling away he observed that the colony was no longer breathing or moving. Tears swelled in his eyes, feeling the 'all too real' loss of someone important.

"I'm sorry" he chanted over and over again, closing his eyes.

)()()()()(

When he reopened them he was surrounded by a cool darkness, no longer holding the small would-be nation. There was complete silence and he was lying down.

"Huh?" He sniffled, sitting up.

"Oh hey!" A cheerful voice greeted him.

Looking over he saw a quiet smile painted on North Italy's face.

"Italy…where…?"

"We're in some cabin place. Everyone's still sleeping," Italy pointed in the general direction of everyone else in the room.

"So it was just a dream then…" America sighed, but quickly shot his eyes open and looked around, "But where's Canada!"

Italy shrugged, "I don't know…he wasn't here when I woke up."

Alfred threw his hand into the pocket of his brown fighter jet jacket and pulled out his cellphone. Turning it on he grumbled, "No signal."

"Sorry," Italy frowned, "I guess I should have told you. I tried phoning Romano too, but it didn't work."

"Oh," America put on a fake smile to stop Italy from being sad, "It's ok. I'll just see him later."

America looked up behind him to the window where a bluish-white light flooded in from. Tilting his head slightly he caught an image of the moon producing the glow. He wondered if Canada was staring at the moon too…waiting for him to come back.

* * *

><p>Sorry, I'm kind of too lazy to go into detail over this but I'll give you some basic historical notes:<br>1) This takes place, as mentioned during the Seven Years War (or War of the French and Indians if you're American – don't ask why they decided to give it a brand new name…hell if I know). The war generally took place in the 1750s but Canada, who was defeated, was not fully assimilated into the British Empire until 1763 with the signing of the Treaty of Paris (1763). After capturing most of France's colonies Britain gave them/him a choice: The Caribbean or Canada. France decided to be an asshole and chose the Caribbean over Canada…  
>2) France doesn't appear in this chapter helping Canada because the French more or less abandoned Canada in this war. (Voltaire and Madame de Pompadour are assholes too).<br>3) From my knowledge no fighting took place between the Americans/British and French Canadiens in Quebec City, but rather outside the city. The most famous of course, being the Battle on the Plains of Abraham (which by the way has a "part two" after winter in which the Canadiens drive the Americans back).  
>4) Wanna know who else was a printer (albeit from Pennsylvania) who hated French Canadiens and wanted to see them wiped out? …Benjamin Franklin…<p>

Translations:  
>~Oui – Yes<br>~Qu'est-ce que c'est – What is it?  
>~Pour que – So thatin order that (you need to add a subjunctive to complete the statement)  
>~Avez-vous un Anglais? – Are you an English (speaker)?<br>~Angleterre – I'm sure most of you know this already, but this is French for "England".  
>~C'est un criminal! Enfermez lui! – It's a criminal! Imprison himLock him up!  
>~Qu'est-ce c'est am je? – America's failed attempt at saying "Where am I?" what he ends up saying is, "What is am I?" with the "am" being retained in English.<br>~Ville de Quebec – Quebec City.


End file.
